


For Your Eyes Only

by babywereperfect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Feat Harry's inability to handle real emotions, M/M, Typical Zarry angst about the night Zayn leaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babywereperfect/pseuds/babywereperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"When are you coming back then? The fans miss you, Z. They've been bringing signs for you every night and singing all your parts really loud when me and Liam can't hit your notes." He smiled even though Zayn couldn't see it, happy just to be talking to him again.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Zayn took a second too long to respond, and Harry suddenly felt like he was going to throw up the little he managed to choke down at tea. </i></p><p>  <i>"Z?"</i></p><p>  <i>Harry heard Zayn inhale deeply. "Harry, I don't think I — I can't —“</i></p><p>  <i>"Zayn!" Harry's voice came out louder, and harsher, than he meant it to. He wrapped his free arm around his stomach, willing the panic he felt there not to rise to his throat. "You're coming back today, right? Or tomorrow?"</i></p><p>Or, a fic about the night "If I Could Fly" was written about, imo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Eyes Only

Harry's hand shot out to grab his phone the second it rang on the bed beside him. Just as quickly, he pressed it back into the duvet face down, so he couldn't see the caller ID.

It was 2 AM in a dark hotel room, and he'd been waiting for this call for three days. Despite not having looked at the name on the screen, he knew exactly who it was. The anticipation of it was the reason he'd been too tense to sleep for several nights. During the evenings he'd performed normally — as normal as possible given the circumstances — but afterwards he had paced around his room, not speaking to anyone, unable to relax enough to drift off. His shoulders were tight from the weight of the stress he and the other boys had been carrying around all week.

Harry covered his heart with his left hand and willed it to stop speeding out of control as the knuckles on his other hand turned white from clutching his mobile. On the fifth ring, he took a deep breath and picked up without even glancing at the screen.

"Zayn," he breathed down the line.

"Harry, thank god you're awake."

"Of course I am, I've been going out of my mind," Harry snapped. The other side of the line went quiet save for Zayn's even breathing, and Harry took a deep breath himself. He tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling, like he did when he meditated, hoping some of the tension would leave with his breath.

"I had to go home to Perrie. I was acting like a complete dickhead with that girl and I had to set it right. I know I have a reputation and I was stupid to think the pictures wouldn't look the way they did."

It was Harry's turn for silence. He tried to bite back the bitterness threatening to flood out of his mouth unbidden. 

"I didn't sleep with her, Harry."

"Okay," Harry replied icily. He wanted to believe him, he really did. 

Zayn's voice broke when he answered. "I need you to believe me. No one else believes me." He sounded so tired.

"Okay," Harry said again, softly that time. Zayn's relationships weren't his business anyway, he reminded himself. "So you're alright then, yeah?" He picked at his bottom lip and rearranged himself until he was sitting cross-legged. 

"Yeah, think so." 

That should have been a good thing, yet Harry picked up on a sadness lingering in Zayn's voice. He decided to keep well out of whatever was going on with Perrie and change the subject. _Not my business_ , he repeated to himself.

"When are you coming back then? The fans miss you, Z. They've been bringing signs for you every night and singing all your parts really loud when me and Liam can't hit your notes." He smiled even though Zayn couldn't see it, happy just to be talking to him again.

Zayn took a second too long to respond, and Harry suddenly felt like he was going to throw up the little he managed to choke down at tea. 

"Z?"

Harry heard Zayn inhale deeply. "Harry, I don't think I — I can't —“

"Zayn!" Harry's voice came out louder, and harsher, than he meant it to. He wrapped his free arm around his stomach, willing the panic he felt there not to rise to his throat. "You're coming back today, right? Or tomorrow?"

"I'm not," Zayn whispered.

"Not what? Not coming back tomorrow? Do you need another week?" His fingers twisted into the holes of his ratty old t-shirt.

"I'm not coming back." Zayn's voice was hoarse with the effort of that sentence, which made it sound horrifyingly final. "I wanted to tell you first. I wasn't sure how I'd tell the rest of the lads. Actually," Zayn struggled to maintain control of his voice, "Can you tell them?"

“Are you asking me to tell the others you’re trying to quit the band? Are you actually asking me to do that, Zayn?” Harry hated Zayn pleading with him, hated the words coming out of both their mouths. The panic subsided quickly, only to be replaced by a familiar calm. Harry felt like everything was going cold, the way it always did when he was made to feel things he didn't want to. It wasn’t something he did on purpose, it just… happened, despite how much he knew it hurt other people. He willed himself not to check out completely. He had to face this.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked that of you," Zayn sighed.

“I’m quitting too then. I’ll fly out right now,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

"Don't be stupid, Harry. You have a gig tomorrow." Harry's heart sunk, both at the truth of that statement and what it made him feel. He was disgusted at how relieved he was that Zayn didn't ask him to come home to London, because he knew he would if Zayn had asked. But One Direction was everything to Harry. It was his dream, his favourite thing in the world. Writing music and playing gigs was what he had always wanted, and now that he had money and fame too, he wouldn’t choose to give them up either. If he left for Zayn's sake, he knew he would probably end up resenting Zayn for the rest of his life. What would be the point? None of this was anything he would ever say out loud, because he was ashamed of himself. But Zayn still knew somehow, and never judged him for it. Zayn knew everything about Harry, except how much he meant to him.

"We have a gig tomorrow Zayn. _We._ As in all five of us,” Harry reminded him.

“Is this honestly such a shock, Harry? I just fell out of love with it, okay? Hadn't you noticed? Were you paying attention at all?" Zayn asked, with more than a tinge of desperation.

Yeah, he had definitely been paying attention, Harry thought miserably as he let his head fall back against the wall behind his bed. He just never thought it would come to this. When Harry's emotions got to be too much, he willed them away and put on a face. The same way he had done when he saw how Zayn felt, and realized he _couldn't_ stow away his real feelings. He could kick himself over it now. He should have put his own shit aside, been real for once, came to Zayn and asked what was wrong. He had been afraid of seeing Zayn unhappy when he knew he couldn't fix it, and absolutely terrified that Zayn would realize he was happier away from all this.

Harry could hear Zayn sniffling down the line. He sounded so far away, but Harry didn't know what to say. So he didn't say anything.

"I wish I could be with you now, Haz."

“Me too,” Harry whispered. Suddenly he felt more tired than he’d ever been in his life; he was unable, or unwilling, to even hold his own head up anymore. He put his mobile on the bed with Zayn on speaker, pulled his knees up so he could rest his chin on them, and wrapped his arms around himself in a hug. It wasn't as comforting as he had hoped it would be.

The silence that hung between them would have been awkward in a call with anyone else, but silences between them had never felt uncomfortable. Harry tried to imagine what it would be like without Zayn in hotels, on the bus, on stage. Actually, he didn't quite have to imagine performing without him, as he'd done it several times over the past couple days. But it had sucked, even when he thought Zayn would be back soon. He kept remembering to look after Zayn but forgetting he wasn't there; several times he picked up a bottle of water to hand to Zayn and ended up pretending he only meant to dump it on fans. Harry couldn't quite carry his solos, and he didn't want to, either. It just made him remember how lost he was. But mostly, Harry missed what happened before and after the gigs: Zayn trying to look properly annoyed by hiding his smile all the times Harry woke him up by climbing into his bed, how they'd wind down after a show together (Zayn drawing, Harry watching him but pretending to read), the way Zayn's smile genuinely spread to his eyes when he was around Harry.

Harry tried a different tactic.

"What will we tell the fans?"

"You don't have to tell the fans anything; that's my job," Zayn reassured him. "Well, actually, tell them that you're not going anywhere. Continue to be there for them and thank them for supporting you."

The way Zayn said "you" when only days ago he would have said "us" made Harry squeeze himself further into a ball. He knew he should be supporting Zayn in his decision, but he was desperate. And selfish.

"But what will _I_ do?"

"You have the three other lads, it’s not like it’s just been me and you in this band. I promise, you'll be alright." Zayn's voice faltered, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“But I love you,” Harry blurted out. As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry wanted to grab them out of the air and stuff them back in. His heart began to race again; he had never said that to anyone. Well, he’d said it to his mum and dad, but that was different. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It was wrong, everything was so horribly wrong, and the wrongness of it all was starting to make the room spin.

"I love you too Haz, I love all of you, this doesn't change—”

"Not like that!" Harry interjected, unable to stop himself. It was like those words had broken a dam inside him, one he'd been carefully constructing for the past four and a half years. He pressed his face harder into his knees and felt moisture spreading through the fabric. Fuck, he hated crying.

 _Shut up, don't cry_ , he thought to himself. But when he was unable to silence the sobs shaking his body, he found himself saying it out loud, too: "Stop crying, oh my god!" He punched the mattress and willed his eyes to suck the tears back up. Not only did Harry hate the loss of control that came with crying, he hated the way his eyes hurt and his nose ran. He felt disgusting and useless.

"Harry...." The pain in Zayn's voice was too much to bear; it only made Harry cry harder. He hadn't cried in so long that once it started it wouldn't stop. And neither would his anger.

"I finally manage to let myself fall in love with someone, and this is how it ends?" he managed to choke out between sobs, frantically wiping the wetness from his cheeks and eyelashes. "This is so fucked up! It wasn't supposed to happen like this!"

Zayn seemed stunned into silence. After half a minute he started feebly, "Harry, please...I didn't know you felt that way, but it's...it doesn't have to...it's going to turn out—"

"Don't you fucking dare tell me it's going to be okay," Harry spat, breath ragged. 

And then Zayn was crying too, both of them crying together over what had been said, what couldn't be said, what they were too afraid to say. 

When Harry had cried himself out, to the point where every limb was heavy and he couldn't keep his eyes open, he wordlessly carried his phone to the toilet in search of tissues. Zayn was still there, silent but definitely present. 

It seemed like ages when he finally climbed under the covers, although it couldn't have been more than five minutes.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Harry whispered.

"Course, babe."

Harry slept fitfully that night, finally dozing off to the sound of Zayn's breathing on speaker. When he woke early the next morning to light filtering through the curtains, he lit up the phone’s screen, anxious to see if Zayn was still there.

The battery had died.

He blinked at it twice before chucking it straight at the wall, not even bothering to see whether it had cracked. He took a couple deep breaths before getting up to dress and finally surrendering to the blissful numbness he’d kept at bay all night. He doesn't speak to Zayn again.

\--

As the months pass, Harry watches shit fly between Louis and Zayn over and over again, through Twitter several times and even once through text. He tries to ignore Liam coming to breakfast with red eyes, and doesn’t question why he chooses to confide in Sophia more now than the rest of the boys. Harry spends most of his own time with Niall; he knows what's lurking underneath his constant brightness, but they’re both equally as good at pretending everything is fine. Writing the new album certainly brings all four of them closer than they’d been in the past year, but they don’t talk about Zayn. The subject of his departure was beaten to death in meetings about PR, the tour, the album…but none of them could bear to talk about what they felt outside of work. Harry’s not sure if they know Zayn called him that night, but as he doesn’t know what he would say if the boys asked, he thinks it’s better off if he never brings it up. The way they’ve handled the situation is unhealthy for sure, and it makes Harry sad to realize that they’re not the same they were with each other years ago. Rather, it would make him sad if he wasn’t so accustomed to ignoring his feelings.

When it’s time for album promo, it’s the first time they really discuss Zayn as a group. They’re bombarded with questions about him, the same ones over and over again. “Is the band different without Zayn?” “What was it like to lose Zayn?” “Are you lot still friends?” Harry relies heavily on his favourite coping method: making terrible jokes so he doesn't have to give a serious answer or watch the others flounder attempting to. He does, however, read more articles than he'd care to admit about Zayn calling off the engagement with Perrie, and hopes to God Zayn didn't actually do it over text. He tries not to feel smug.

The only time Harry really lets himself think about Zayn is when he writes, and when the band came together to share what they’d worked on for the album, he realized that was true for Louis and Liam as well. They wrote two songs together about losing someone, and it wasn’t hard to see which song came from which of their perspectives. “History” was upbeat, hopeful, and sweet, while “Long Way Down” spoke of betrayal and failure. He brought his own song to the table, one he’s quite proud of actually, called “Walking in the Wind.” He knows the fans will think it’s about their current relationship with Zayn, and he’s okay with that. He doesn’t mind them thinking everything’s fine, because he thinks it’s a shame fans had to watch things between Zayn and the rest of One Direction get so messy in the first place. But that wasn’t the song he wanted Zayn to hear.

“If I Could Fly” flowed out of him easier than any song he’d ever written, but once he wrote the words “for your eyes only,” it became so personal that he almost didn’t bring it to the writing team. But he had to because even months later, he still reckons it’s the best song he’s ever written. Certainly the most authentic. When the boys heard it for the first time It made Liam cry, even if he didn’t know who it was about (although Harry suspected he did). He never disclosed any details, and the boys never asked. Only Harry knows it’s about the way his heart dropped when his whole world shifted unexpectedly, making it incredibly hard to navigate yet still familiar. Like someone messed with the receptors in his eyes so everything he saw was turned at a ninety degree angle, but he had to walk around pretending it was all normal. As if all his friends and family were suddenly speaking a different language he couldn’t understand. 

Harry throws himself into work as the album release date draws near, in an attempt to forget the gaping hole in his heart. He’s learning to deal with Zayn’s absence, he really is. He just wishes he’d give him a fucking call, text, anything. It’s a mixture of his own pride and respect for Zayn’s space that prevents him from making the first move. Instead, he wonders obsessively how Zayn will react to the album. Will he listen secretly and pretend he’s heard nothing? Will he shoot them a cursory “congratulations” tweet? Will he genuinely choose not to listen to it at all? None of them have spoken to Zayn in months, but when every interviewer asks about him, and every early review talks about how this is the album they made in spite of their loss, Zayn is nowhere to be found yet everywhere simultaneously.

With less than a week to go until the release, the album promo is absolutely kicking their asses. While Harry misses touring, he finds himself grateful that he doesn’t have to do a show tonight after the fifteen interviews they’re scheduled to do today. He’s trying to chill out with a book on the last couple minutes of his break when his phone rings. He sighs, irritated, and answers tersely without sparing a glance at the caller ID. It’s a bad habit of his, he knows.

“Harry?” 

Harry jerks his head away from his hand, totally caught off guard.

_Is it…?_

Honestly, it’s ridiculous for him to even question it; he would know Zayn’s voice anywhere. Still, his brings his mobile back up to eye level, where the screen confirms Zayn’s number. 

Harry doesn’t know what to say, what emotion he’s supposed to have, so he settles for a simple “Hi.”

There’s a pause where Harry thinks Zayn is waiting for him to say more, but he’s honestly too shellshocked, too tense, to remember how to form a sentence. After a couple seconds, Zayn clears his throat. And then he’s laughing nervously, and Harry’s face feels warm from finally hearing that sound he had missed so much.

"I downloaded the leak off a fucking Larry blog,” Zayn is grinning into his ear. Harry can practically hear the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. "The album's incredible. I wanted to congratulate you.”

“I could have you sued for that, Malik.”

Zayn’s laughing again, much more freely this time, and Harry finds that he is too. It feels so good his head goes a bit fuzzy.

“But seriously. Your writing has gotten so good, Haz," he adds quietly, with pride. Harry's heart soars at Zayn's ever-insistent use of that nickname, even after all these months, that no one else uses anymore.

"Really? You think so? Which one was your favourite?"

“Not sure yet, I loved them all. But there were a couple that…I just…” Harry sits up straighter in his chair. He always knew Zayn might hear the album and know some of the songs were about him, but actually talking to him about it is making him more nervous than he anticipated. “I just knew I needed to call.”

Harry lets out a deep breath. “I mean…I could have — should have — called you too. Like, way before this.”

“We can talk about that later. I just…I really miss you. Can I come round?”

"Do you want me to try to figure it out with the others?" Harry asks hesitantly. He's not sure how that would go, honestly; Niall might act normal but Liam would probably cry through the whole meet-up. Harry's not sure Louis would even agree to come.

"Er...I was thinking maybe it could be just us, this first time, yeah?” Something in Zayn’s voice makes him sound softer than normal. “I wanted to talk in person and like, apologize for…a lot of things. Especially how we left things that night.”

Harry immediately wants the world to swallow him up. He hadn’t prepared for this conversation quite yet. He thinks he would rather have Zayn pretend he forgot his entire teary-eyed tantrum and subsequent confession of love than have to listen to Zayn telling him once again, that he loves him too — in a friend way.

“I should apologize too. Like, I should have been there for you through this. But I was selfish.” _And thinking about you at all hurt too much_ , Harry adds mentally.

“Well, we’ll talk. We could like, get dinner and chat, yeah? And after maybe listen to the album and you can tell me all about the songs you wrote.” The hopeful, yet slightly anxious tone of Zayn’s voice makes Harry’s stomach do a flip. He’s nervous about meeting up too, but he can hear his own smile travel down the line when he answers.

“Yeah definitely. I'll text you?” He pauses. "Can I...can we...listen to your stuff too? You've been writing, right?"

Zayn's voice takes on a quality Harry swears he hasn’t heard in years; it’s excited and certain. Fearless. "I was hoping you'd ask, actually. I've been writing most of it myself and everyone says it's good but it's scary that it's just me. I actually…really want your opinion? I'll bring it."

Zayn’s hired the best songwriters and producers in the world, yet he wants _Harry’s_ opinion. Harry feels like he might float up to the ceiling and get stuck there if he isn’t careful. Unfortunately, he’s too aware of the time. He stands, tossing his unread book back on the bed. “I have to do an interview in like…” He looks at his watch. “…Now.”

"No worries, get to work! I know how your schedule is, remember?”

“I’ll text you then, let you know when I have a night free?”

“Okay, but Harry?” Zayn says in a rush.

"Mmm?" Harry hums as he smoothes out his shirt.

“It’s a date.”

“Uhh…yeah. You said dinner, right?” Harry asks, glancing at the door. He’s definitely going to be late.

“No,” Zayn says quickly. “Well, yes, but. That’s not what I meant.”

Harry feels his heart flutter against his ribs.

“I mean like, it’s a date date. I want to take you on a date,” Zayn says firmly, in a way that suggests he’s practiced saying it more than once. 

Harry’s smile would be blinding if there was anyone in his room to see it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he promptly drops back down on the bed, staring at his boots.

Zayn’s voice is hesitant again on the other side of the line. “Is that…okay? I thought that’s what you wanted, but if it isn’t—“

“I do,” Harry interrupts finally, with the finality and exuberance of a bride saying her wedding vows. Too full of warmth to beat himself up over it now, he stores it in the back of his mind to be embarrassed about tonight. “I do want that.”

When Harry hangs up with Zayn a moment later he feels practically buoyant, even after he gets told off for being late. All he can think about is _Zayn, Zayn, Zayn_. He hurtles through the rest of the day at a level of cheeriness even Niall can't match and acts even stranger than normal, to the apparent amusement of the press he's to scheduled to speak with. The other boys ask what’s gotten into him, and he simply replies he’s had too much sugar. As familiar as they are with Harry’s health regimen, they all know this is a lie. However, they’re just as familiar with the mysterious moods he gets himself into every now and then, so no one asks more than once. This he is grateful for; he knows he’ll have to spill eventually, but it’s not time yet.

Later, when it’s dark in his bedroom and still all he can think about is _Zayn, Zayn, Zayn_ , he finally snaps out of it and realizes he never actually texted Zayn to tell him when he’ll be free. He picks his phone up off his bedside table only to read a message already waiting for him there: “Can I see you 2 weekends from now? xx.”

He starts typing back immediately, without so much as a glance at his calendar.

It’s as if his heart has grown wings.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @amstandsforaftermalik on tumblr!


End file.
